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I’ve been struggling with some newly learned information today from a close friend. It’s put me in a funk while I search my brain trying to understand her reasoning. Understanding and reconciling are different from acceptance. I accept what she’s doing but my system is out of sorts with it. To say the least. I’ve been consumed by her decision all day.

My close female friend is voting for Donald Trump. I hyperventilate typing that sentence. She’s an intelligent, kind, talented, lovely person with high emotional intelligence I’d say. I often gain a different perspective of things when we talk. But not today. Today I’m flummoxed, deflated and depressed.

She’s a devout Christian, one who participates in Bible study each week. And she believes that Jesus chooses broken people when he wants his work to be done. And that belief allows her to vote for Donald Trump to be President of the United States. Yup.

I’ve tried to counter that argument, haven’t and won’t succeed. After everything she knows about what kind of person he really is – how he cheats, scams, avoids taxes, demeans women, forces himself on women, cheats on his wives – not to mention his temperament, bullying, lying viciously, multiple bankruptcies, lawsuits, knowing absolutely nothing about economic and foreign affairs and not having the patience, or interest to learn – she’s voting for him.

So now it’s my problem to handle. I’m a person fiercely driven by principles. While I’m not sure I could ever have an abortion, I absolutely believe that others should have the right to make that choice themselves. I’m not gay or a transsexual, but that doesn’t pre-empt my feeling that those gender identity people have the same inherent rights I do. I think that’s what Jesus taught – love, compassion and forgiveness.  I know she feels differently. She’s a bible literalist I think, though I’ve never been to her bible study group. And it’s those issues and other “family values” that’s driving her vote. Never mind that Trump is not Christian and that he’s the antithesis of Jesus Christ. There’s nothing noble about that man. And yet he will get her vote.

This election season has agitated my constitution. Other than Trump’s cult members I can’t understand why anyone would think he’s fit for the highest post in the world. Donald Trump? Are you kidding me? Would the same people vote for Charles Manson if he ran on the Republican ticket? Or Hitler? Even the Republican brass is renouncing him as their choice.  Where have we gone as a country?

Alas, this is my problem, the need for people to look at the facts, objectively. Maybe if we had a less divisive opponent, someone other than Hillary, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard for people to take their heads out of the sand. I won’t go into why there’s such hatred and distrust directed at Hillary – just suffice it to say that the smear campaign lasting years and years has been effective.  Forget all her years of family and children activism, and her successful track record.  The haters hate.

I put this out to the universe from the depths of my soul….

Please let the vast majority of people and delegates elect Hillary. The planet is in peril otherwise and the rest of the world knows it.

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Madison rolled on her back, legs splayed wide, teasing me to rub her belly.  That’s not something she usually does; she has to know we’re alone and not in danger of intrusion from her brothers and sisters.  We enjoyed our quiet 20 minutes together while she wrapped the nook of her paw around my wrist and wriggled under my tickles.  I thought she’d choke on her purrs while she wrestled my hand in sheer uninhibited pleasure.

She’s the newest addition to our four-legged family, joining us several months ago when our fostering morphed into full-time adoption.  We’ve fallen madly in love and every time she’s near I’m awed by her startling beauty and sweet temperament.  She’s a blue point Persian, my first pedigree animal and she’s nothing like the snooty elitist I imagined she’d be.  She’s just a cat that wants to be loved, groomed, fed and sheltered and reciprocates with warm affection and devotion.

In fact I find all of our animals to be appreciative of our family.  They’re all rescues of various backgrounds with unique stories of how they came to be ours.  At this writing we have 5 cats and a dog, Pogo, the first canine in my life.  Their energies are completely different from each other and so is their interaction with us.

My tickling session with Madison happened while I was collapsed on my bed after a vigorous morning at the barn.  Each Tuesday I volunteer at Horse Haven of Tennessee, an equine rescue that rehabilitates those horses that suffered abuse and neglect.  They come in starving and distrusting people and they leave hundreds of pounds heavier and ready to be ridden.  As a life long animal lover and an aspiring horse owner I choke with emotion at the difference we make in their lives.  And they know it and appreciate.

This morning, like most Tuesday mornings in September, I loved on Toby.  He’s a Tennessee Walking Horse who’s become the latest object of my horse ownership fantasy.  He’s steadily gaining weight, muscle filling in the gaps between his protruding bones.  Because I’ve been grooming him we’re forming a friendship that eventually I’ll have to break when he’s well enough to have a new home.

As I reflect on this month I realize how prominent a role animals and nature play in my life. I need both for my soul to thrive.  That’s always been true and now that I lead a self-directed life I seem to drift deeper in that direction.

Mornings are occupied with walks through my wooded neighborhood with Pogo.  His nose works overtime picking up scents of the most recent critter that’s crossed our path.  When I’m quiet and tuned in, I notice an active wildlife community.  We have box turtles, squirrels, hawks, blue heron, snakes, deer, gofers, chipmunks, fish and insects of all shapes and sizes.  The animals we occasionally see are coyote and fox.  People go to zoos to see the animals we live among.  I’ve come to realize I love the woods and if offered a choice to live near the ocean or the woods I’d choose the latter.  Everything about me calms down when I’m surrounded by wilderness.

That’s why I’ve finally decided to hike trails in the Smoky Mountains, a National Park within an hour’s drive from my house.  This month I bought a trail book and each week I grabbed a neighbor to tackle 7 – 8 mile trails rated moderate in difficulty.  They take 4 – 5 hours to complete and the scenery along the way can be breathtaking.  We pass by rock-strewn streams and rivers, gushing waterfalls, caves, wildflowers, trees of many species and nothing but mountainsides and valleys everywhere we go.   The hike, combined with the scenery clears my head, opens my heart and makes me appreciate everything about my life.  This is where I live!  I don’t have to take vacations to visit here like most everyone we pass on the trails.  The beauty of nature is unsurpassed.

Bike riding offers a similar pleasure.  Because I ride on greenways I can usually avoid traffic and allow my breathing rhythm to be influenced by the peddling.  When the distraction of cars is eliminated the bike pace becomes amplified and the world slows down or speeds up accordingly.  I see people playing in parks, walking engrossed in conversation and fellow cyclers – many of us going nowhere fast, just out to enjoy the fresh air, scenery and exercise.

As I reflect on how I spent September one thing that stands prominent is a daily realization that I’ll never get to live this month in this year again.  Kiss September, 2012 goodbye.  Perhaps this is what the exercise is really about.  That and recognizing how much living I’ve actually done.

Achievement stands out, or lack thereof.  More recurring than any other thought was whether I’d do something substantive with my days, something worth writing about and sharing.  My inclination is to share my thoughts, to turn this adventure into a writing exercise as a way to engage creatively.  So many people I know have creative outlets like painting, music, dance, jewelry making, sewing, cooking.  None of those things turn me on.  Though I may want to feel inspired by such activities, I’m not.  I used to be juiced by making television shows about those subjects and others but not so much anymore.

What is achievement about, anyway?  Does it require payment for time spent and efforts recognized?  More on that in my next “September, lived” post.

Any thoughts?

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Every Wednesday I head to my patient’s house for a few hours, though I spend very little time with her.  She’s bedridden and has been uncommunicative for many years, living our her last days with Alzheimer’s Disease.  Her husband sees to her every need while she receives hospice care.  He’s home day in and day out, leaving only when someone sits vigil in his stead.  That’s where I enter, to give him necessary time away.  There’s a lot to learn about living when spending time with the dying and with those who are charged with their assistance. What I’ve learned has certainly enhanced my appreciation for life and good health.

Frankly I’ve always marveled at how my life has unfolded over the years, starting with a rocky childhood and evolving into a stimulating career for 30 years, which allowed me to travel, meet intriguing people and do impactful work.  Three years ago I left my job and decided to stop working for a while, which might last for the rest of my life.  Who knows?  I do know that I’ve been using this newly created time for personal growth – spiritually, experientially and creatively.

The key is to pay attention along the way: notice the serendipity and how one experience, book or person begets another.   Dr. Lee Lipsenthal says to “enjoy every sandwich” in his book with the same title.  Make everything in life meaningful as though it was your last experience alive.  It’s an intriguing concept, one that dying people take to heart with each final day that ticks away.

I recently adapted a challenge posed in my discussion group.   The charge is to calculate the number of years I have left to live – using family history and lifestyle as consideration points.  Multiply that by months and gather that many stones in a bowl.  At the end of each month, remove a stone for the month that no longer remains and evaluate how I’ve spent that month.  Powerful stuff.  While I’m not prepared to commit to that exercise for the rest of my life, I am intrigued to try it for a year.

My bowl will be filled with 12 shells I’ve collected from my travels.  Each month I’ll pull one out and glue it to a frame that will surround a collage of photos, each one representing something important from that month.  In essence, it will be a scrapbook from a year of my life.

These pages will be filled with musings from those experiences.  My areas of concentration will include the very things that fill my life …

Healthy eating – I spent 16 months losing the 45 extra pounds on my small frame.  It’s a challenge to keep them off.

Exercise – usually in the form of walking, biking and hiking – where I’ve been, with whom and the adventures along the way.

Hospice work – experiences with my current patient and spouse or the next one – and the accompanying, inevitable deaths.

Animals – my five cats and dog as well as the rescue horses that I help to rehabilitate from abuse and neglect.  There’s always much to learn from animals when you listen and pay attention.

Relationships – with my husband, family and others with whom I’m involved, or met.

Adventures – however that’s defined.  It could be trips in our RV or by car.  Maybe it’s something else; time will tell.

The point is to live each month consciously while my life ticks away.  I’m curious to see how it unfolds and whether I can actually stay tuned in.

Ready, set … go.  September lived, coming up.  You’re welcomed to play along!

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Writing is a craft I’ve been playing with recently.  I say playing because a “writer” isn’t something I’ve ever considered myself though I’d been writing professionally for many years.  Television stories, that is.  Non-fiction ones, both short form and longer pieces.  It’s a skill I acquired, though never really a talent.  Talent is a gift that can be refined and made stronger.  I think I’m gifted in some things, but not really writing.  Sometimes I’m proficient, but I don’t consider myself as having a way with words.  I can describe what I see and what I think.  Mostly it’s because I’m talking on paper – and talking is something I’m pretty good at.  Articulating, to be specific.  (And when you talk, you can end with prepositions.)

Now that I’m not making television shows I’m playing with the craft of writing to see if I can get better and to discover a voice that fits me.  So the idea of learning to write well is a creative pursuit that’s intriguing and offers a challenge that I’m up for tackling.  But I’m under no delusion that it’s something at which I can become talented.  The book I recently finished by Stephen King titled “On Writing” reinforces the same thought.  He says good writers can become better, but not great.

The notion of writing a book is as fascinating to me as it is daunting.  So when I read, I find myself deconstructing its form:  studying how something is said, the way it’s developed and the style within which it unfolds.  It’s within that context that I recently spoke with Lynne Spreen about her first novel, “Dakota Blues,” which she also self-published.

I thoroughly enjoyed the book and its evolution of story and thought process of protagonist Karen.  She’s a middle-aged (read boomer) who is so deeply consumed by her HR career that she considers herself indispensible, until one day she’s blindsided by its fiction.  Brutally.  Spreen expertly weaves narration that winds you through countryside, nature, settings and Karen’s mind.  You feel, see and taste everything.  Chapters move quickly as they weave you through story until you can’t put down the book.

Let’s start with her trailer which sets the mood well and teases it even better.

Now on to our conversation …

The book unfolds effortlessly – at least to the reader, which constantly makes me wonder how effortless was it for you to write?

I have to confess: not effortless. I’m thrilled it ended up looking that way, but this book took a lot of years to write. Picture a potter’s wheel, and a grey lump of clay getting fat, then skinny, then fat again as the wheel spins. That was DB.

How much did you write each day and how much of the story did you know before writing?

I write as many days in sequence as I can, because if I skip a day or two, I forget details! But I had to find that out the hard way.

That’s why it took me ten years (gasp!) In the early years, I’d get distracted or upset about how it was going, or my job would wring me out, and I’d stop writing for months at a time.

Did you keep notes of the details?

Oh, I did! I had notes here and lists there, notebooks and computer files and everything. I was learning to write as I wrote. Problem was, as I learned, the details had to change. The notes would become obsolete, so I’d throw them away. Doesn’t this sound like fun?

Please elaborate.

After a lifetime as a corporate suit, I was finally able to downscale to part-time, which allowed me to write, but I discovered I knew almost nothing about constructing a novel. So I spent years learning – attending classes, conferences, reading Writer’s Digest, and later, blogs and articles on the Internet.

Did you map out the sequences in advance, complete with the narrative scenes provided?

No, I didn’t. But now that I know better, I will! Originally the whole story was set in Newport Beach, but I didn’t love it there. Then, when I went back to N. Dakota with Mom in 2008, my first visit back since childhood, I fell in love with the area and knew my story had to be based in the Midwest. Does that give you an idea of all the revising?

As we drove from Denver to Dickinson and back again, and during the visit, I kept recording my observations into a video recorder. Mom and I still talk about that trip – it was the trip of a lifetime.

What were the different phases you went through with the book – ie:  did you write from an outline, had you written notes for yourself along the way?  Was there a skeleton that you filled in as the story grew?

I think it would be better not to tell you how I did it, because it’s exactly wrong! My so-called method was trial-and-error, which ate up a lot of time: I did not have a good idea of how a novel should be structured, or how to outline it. I went through about 3 systems and ended up using the one by Larry Brooks (StoryFix.com). So my next book should only take about a year to write, now that I know what is supposed to go where. (She said hopefully.)

So if you weren’t sure how a novel should be structured, how were you able to start writing it?  Did you have to restructure the story to accommodate the structure?

I wrote a hundred pages of first chapters. It was excruciating. Yes, I had to rewrite everything, multiple times.

Stephen King says in his book “On Writing” that you first write with the door closed and then with the door open – meaning (I think) that the first phase is almost stream of consciousness writing – letting the story spill out of you.  Then you re-write it with readers in mind.  Does that define your process – or was yours different?

I loved that book, but I think my future process (after the crucible of this first experience) will be this: I’ll first create a logline or one-line. Then a short synopsis, then a longer synopsis, then a form of outline, and finally, the novel.

What was your writing regimen to prepare for tackling a novel?

I lit a candle, drank lots of wine and started typing. Just kidding. Now that I’m 58, my stomach hates alcohol, which makes me so mad.

That sounds like a plan for me, actually!  But I was thinking more along the lines of “practice” pieces.  Were there such things?  For example, now you have many writing venues in your life:  book reviews, a blog, articles on different websites, maybe more.  Did those outlets serve as practice pieces, of sorts?  Or just other avenues of expression?

I started the nugget of what would become Dakota Blues about ten years ago. At the time, I was freelance writing (newspaper and magazine) which helped me hone my skills. I also joined a critique group which I consider critical to getting better at the craft. Then, as I began blogging, doing book reviews, etc., that helped me even more, because your writing gets tighter. You find yourself asking, “What’s my point?” or “What the hell does that have to do with anything?” It’s better to ask yourself that before the reader does it for you!

How did you determine when the story was winding down and coming to its rightful end?

Strangely enough for one so scattered, I had an idea of how I wanted Karen’s journey to unfold. I had learned enough to understand and treasure the concept of story arc, but also, I have always been eager (which is not a strong enough word – passionate? Yes, passionate.) about women breaking free in midlife or later. Realizing they actually hold the keys to their jail cells.

When and how did you determine who the support characters would be for Karen and what their back-stories might be?

They came and went. I would learn something critical about supporting characters and realize one of mine had to go, so I’d edit her out. Now I understand that each character exists for a reason, to carry water for the story. She or he can’t just be there because you want to get revenge on your coworker or boyfriend. They exist to perform a function for the story. In the case of Frieda, she served as guide to old age, someone who could tell Karen what to expect and how to be happy and independent when older. Frieda also served as a mother-replacement for Karen, who felt guilty for having “abandoned” her own mom.

That’s interesting because Frieda’s relationship with her own daughter didn’t feel like a role-model sort of relationship.  What was your reason for that?

I wanted to show an old woman who, even though she was really old, still grappled with the same issues we all do (family discord) and some we all don’t, at least not yet (mortality.) What must it feel like to be 90?

So even though Frieda is fiercely independent, she caves (with the inducement of the baby) and decides to go see Sandy and maybe live with her. However, the crisis in Wyoming causes not just Karen but Frieda, as old as she is, to change her mind and keep on fighting. Which I think is interesting, because it shows a VERY elderly woman who is just like us, only wiser. And she has a lot to teach Karen. The troubled relationship with Sandy is a metaphor for any difficult situation in our lives.

Locations are so real they can’t possibly be fictional. Are they?

The locations are definitely not fictional, but I wrote about Dickinson before the oil boom landed like Godzilla. That lovely small town now exists only in my book. I’m glad that North Dakotans are finally getting economic benefit, but there’s a cost.

Many writers suggest to “write what you know.”  How closely does Dakota Blues resemble your life?

There’s a lot of me and my ancestors in it. I worked in HR, like Karen (Karen is the name of my elder sister; I used it to honor her). And the theme of the story – breaking free, rediscovering your authentic self, and finding empowerment in the second half of life – is my passion. I believe it can happen if we take a more active role in our own destiny.

How would you say fiction differs from non-fiction?

As an HR exec, I wrote non-fiction every day, along these lines: “You were observed at 8:45 a.m. on Tuesday, October 15, exiting the Pussy Cat Gentlemen’s Club in (city). You opened the door of your work truck (plate # xxxxx), started the vehicle and in approximately ten seconds, collided with a telephone pole.” After thirty years of that kind of writing, I was artistically constipated. But little by little, I learned to make stuff up. Fiction is so fun and freeing.

But you also write “real” pieces, articles and book reviews.  I consider those non-fiction.  Do you consider there to be a difference?

That’s an interesting question, because although obviously fiction is “unreal” as opposed to non, which is “real,” at the same time, if I’m writing fiction, I have to deal with facts, too. Like with Dakota Blues, I did a lot of research, such as contacting an ornithologist about bird life on the northern plains. (Specifically: if trees only arrived with the settlers, where did birds live before that? Were species limited to those that lived in burrows, like some owls?)

And with my newspaper column or other works, I had to paint dramatic pictures with my words, and construct the articles in such a way as to pull the reader in and keep them hooked. So although I’ve never EVER thought about this before, the two forms do have a lot in common. Good question, Joyce.

The book looks as professionally packaged (font, art, weight of paper, number of pages) as all the books I have from big publishing houses.  Please explain the process of self-publishing and why you chose Amazon.

Thank you! I actually had the cover made independently by www.Damonza.com. I’ll tell him you said so.

Why I chose Amazon: an indie publisher wanted to publish Dakota Blues, and in preparation for the contract negotiations (did I mention I used to negotiate union contracts?) I researched Amazon (actually, CreateSpace, an entirely separate company) because I knew they listed their a la carte publishing services and costs right on the website. So I’m thinking, okay, I’ll tell Mr. Indie I want this, and this, and this…and then I realized I could do it without him! This is the beauty of self-publishing (although at this point, I have about six people on my team, so the label is inaccurate.)

What’s a cost range for self-publishers?

Nobody will give you a straight answer to this because it’s all over the place, depending on what services you want to buy and how techy you are. But I would say if you spend more than $2500, you’re nuts. My own services (including a $600 book trailer done by my cover artist) probably totaled $1500. But a person can spend way less. If you just want to sell it as an ebook, you can upload your manuscript to Smashwords for free. Then tell everybody about it and rake in the cash. Or coin, depending.

What are you working on now?

Oh, this is so fun! It’s a collection of short stories about the experience of being older. It’s called “The New Country – Stories of Midlife and Beyond.” I’ve got my critique group laughing and crying and begging for more. There’s quite a bit of humor in it.

Any final nuggets you’d like to share about your discovery process?

Lots of people ask authors where we get ideas. Here’s my best suggestion: coffee and the morning paper (or in my case, the morning laptop). One of my best sources of ideas for characters and scenes is from reading advice columns (I really like Carolyn Hax at the Washington Post). Also, I get Google Alerts when the word “boomer” turns up in an article online. Sometimes you find out about a trend (like the largest group of people seeking divorce is women over 50, and the most common reason given is she wants to move, now that the kids are raised, and he doesn’t. So she goes without him.) Then you ask “what if?” Because that’s the magic of writing fiction: dreaming up your own questions, and supplying your own answers.

Thanks for asking me to join you in this discussion, Joyce. I had a blast!

That’s from Lynne Spreen, author of her first novel, Dakota Blues” found on Amazon.  Pick up your copy and enjoy it as much as I have.

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The discouraged Nenene suffering from writer's...

I think I’m going through the phenomenon writers call writer’s block (although I just read a writer’s diatribe that it doesn’t exist.  He says if a writer can’t write, she’s not a writer.) Each time I sit down to write to an idea I’ve had, nothing but the first line comes out.  And when I push myself to continue, sentences form, sure enough, but they go nowhere with no point being made.  It’s maddening and it’s tiring.

It’s also unfamiliar to me.  As a professional developer of ideas that get concocted from thin air and build into television events or projects it stands to reason that the prolific creativity machine should be well oiled to avoid misfires.  It’s not.

Writer's Block

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This writing thing is a different medium.  And I’m not so bold as to actually call myself a writer; I’m not (see Mr. Writer expert?).  I’m practicing to become one.  To find my voice.  To develop a style.  To stumble upon a genre.  And to be honest, because truth-telling is one of those necessary virtues in non-fiction writing, which seems to be my preference.  At least for now.

After participating in a 4-week non-fiction creative writing series for women, I came away a little more practiced and fluid, but with no principles to stash in my back pocket to help with construction.  She said there were none.  Maybe that’s the case for creative writing.  But certainly there are things to remember when putting fingers to the keyboard with the intention of making the material interesting to people.

Barnes & Noble.

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As I write I’m sitting in the Barnes & Noble Cafe with a stack of writing and pop culture magazines to get my juices flowing.  This technique always worked during my TV years.  Bring a notebook, grab some magazines and books, peruse them and brainstorm new concepts.  And in fact, as soon as I sat down with my tall decaf and biscotti, this notion of spilling my guts occurred to me.  Maybe if I actually record my stuckness, I’ll become unstuck?

My years of television creation appealing to a mass public has taught me that if you want people to watch, you have to give them something they can identify with, become fascinated by, aspire to or become informed by.  And you have to target the right crowd.

Well my crowd is the boomer population, particularly boomer women with professional backgrounds because that’s where I am in my life.  Working to discover “next” that’s as exciting as what was.  And to share the process as I live life unencumbered by the daily routine of deadlines, expectations and management challenges.

But I digress.  My dear friend in California is in the throes of self publishing her first book.  How cool is that?  We worked together in radio many moons ago and she’s moved on to a number of things, one of which keeps her passion for writing alive.  I can’t wait to buy a copy.

For now, I’ll continue to muddle my way through.  I’m discovering writing to be an interesting challenge.  And I got a gig as a community columnist for our local daily paper.  I hope to make those pieces interesting.  And I really really hope I don’t experience this kind of obstacle with my deadline looming.  I have 3 in the can, so to speak, ready for tweaking.  Cross your fingers for me.

gif for avatar used on Webpages/Weblogs

In the meantime — tell me, how do you oil your writing machines?  Please oh please share!  Now on to my magazines!

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A comment by Annie Liebowitz has really gained a foot hold in my psyche, naming the amorphous ramblings in my brain about what might be next for me.  She has a new photography book out called “Pilgrimage” and she was recently interviewed about it by Dominique Browning in the Times.  She wrote it to “save myself,” she told Browning, “to remind myself of what I like to do, what I can do.”

She was looking for a way to nurture her creativity in a new raw, rather primal testament to where she stands in her life now – and she photographed objects instead of people.

For some reason the thought of Annie Liebowitz experiencing a creative crisis is anathema to me.  She’s certainly among the most well-known photographers of this era, amassing a healthy livelihood along the way.  And yet she reached a point in her life where she questioned, what’s next?

Her talent is photography; more importantly, she’s able to communicate a mood, attitude of a subject that transcends the page and penetrates our soul.

What is this nebulous noun, talent, and how is it recognized and, ultimately, grown?  According to Liebowitz it can disappear.  “It needs to be nurtured, taken care of.”  And that’s why she’s forging experimental terrain with her “Pilgrimage” subject matter.

Winfrey on the first national broadcast of The...

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Oprah’s talent is communication and empathy.

Steve Jobs shows off iPhone 4 at the 2010 Worl...

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Steve Jobs married intuition with innovation to realize his blazing talent.

Thomas Friedman, American journalist, columnis...

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Thomas Friedman blends the gift of writing with insight and intellect to manifest his talent.

What about the rest of us?  How do we grow our talent, help it to blossom and bear fruit?

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Last week’s exercises in my non-fiction creative writing class were interesting ones.  We were asked to list obsessions and strong memories, then expound on them.  A collective sigh came from the four of us until the juices started flowing inspiring each of us to become absorbed in our unique internal lives.

Early on it became clear that this assignment would offer each other glimpses into who we are.  We met as strangers from different parts of the area and today we’d share intimacies – because of a writing exercise.

A single woman in her early 30s struggles with a driving desire to find herself, to one-day have the courage to leave her job of 12 years and follow her dream.  Trouble is, she can’t identify that dream.  Maybe this writing class will coax that passion to the surface.  Or maybe writing will help her understand why each new relationship ends up falling apart as she wonders on paper whether this current beau will stand the test of time.  She’s plagued by the need to compare herself to peers with husbands and children which feeds a certain panic in her soul.  Now we understand her a bit better.

The woman to my right obsesses about her weight and writing and, hopefully, earning money from her prose.  She used to be a teacher and grew very frustrated with the politics of education and students’ lack of interest.  She yearns for the day when the solitary hours spent putting thoughts on paper will be validated with a check in the mail.  She and her husband are retired and she struggles with the balance of taking care of him and the urge to spill herself into her fingers on a keyboard.

Then there’s the woman whose childhood trauma sparked a love for poetry.  Pouring her tortured heart onto paper somehow eased the pain of losing her mother when she was nine years old.  A drunk driver slammed head on into the family car while her mother was at the wheel.  While this girl waited outside the car for an ambulance to arrive she remembers hearing her mother gurgling, still trapped behind the steering wheel.  Those injuries proved fatal.  The father spent days in the ICU recovering from his physical injuries, though his heart never healed.  So that nine-year old girl and her siblings were shipped out to be cared for by others. Today this now grown woman has a deep story to tell and skimmed the shallow surface with us.

As for me, I wouldn’t say I have obsessions, per se, what I have are driving passions, one of them is horses.  Though I’ve never owned a horse, I usually find a way to be around them; lately it’s volunteering at a horse rescue where we rehabilitate neglected and abused horses.  This past week I also attended horse camp where we brushed up on our riding skills mounted on Paso Finos and Tennessee Walking Horses.  Their strides are smooth as velvet and much easier on the legs and back.

Eye of a Horse (Andalusian)

Image via Wikipedia

They say that horses are windows into your soul and maybe that’s why I’m filled with emotion when grooming them.  Watching their powerful, graceful bodies prance around a pasture fills me with awe.

There are a lot more stories inside us waiting to be coaxed to the surface.  We humans are fascinating creatures – each with a unique story to tell to the right listener who extends a sincere invitation.

What are some of your stories?

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